


Big

by edibleflowers



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9008146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: Gladio is big. Prompto isn't too ashamed to admit there's something he kind of really likes about that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Um, yeah. This is just porn. I was trying to write some kind of Ignis/Noctis thing (which is still in progress) and this happened instead.

Gladio is big. Not fat, not overbearing, just... big. Solid. Tall. Prompto isn't too ashamed to admit there's something he kind of really likes about that. Gladio has that solid build, thighs like tree trunks and muscled arms enhanced by the tattooed feathers that blanket his skin almost to his wrists, and across those wide shoulders, and down his sculpted back...

Prompto spends a lot of time looking at Gladio when Gladio isn't looking at him.

It's no secret why Prompto prefers staying in motels to camping out. Camping is OK, sure, when there's no other option and if it's not raining. But at a motel, where they usually get two rooms, he can give Gladio a shy look and disappear into one of said rooms and know, _know_ , that in approximately sixty seconds, Gladio will be in there behind him with the door locked.

That's how it is this night, in some crummy little run-down place in Cleigne. Prompto isn't one to quibble over waterstains on the ceiling or peeling wallpaper, though, not when Gladio's crowding him up against the wall next to the bathroom, skimming off Prompto's vest and dragging the shirt beneath it up over Prompto's head. Already short of breath, Prompto moans when Gladio's big hands cover Prompto's bare chest and belly, when Gladio's pelvis grinds into Prompto's ass, teasing Prompto with the heat of the erection he can already feel rocking against him. 

"Please," he breathes out.

Gladio's laugh is low and rough in his ear. "Please what?" he asks, almost silky but for that hoarseness that makes Prompto shiver all over.

"Please -- whatever -- I just want to feel you, I just want you in me so bad, Gladio, _please_ \--" The words stream out without a hint of shame or regret; Prompto's never felt anything with Gladio but pure desire, unrestricted need. Anything they do is safe.

"Then get your pants off and get on that bed." Gladio bites Prompto's ear (another shock of want hitting Prompto hard at that) and then steps back, so that Prompto feels nothing but cool air all down his back.

He nearly trips over his own boots getting to the closer of the two beds. They get shoved off quickly enough, and then his belt's undone and he's skinned his jeans off, uncaring where they fall. The briefs come off just before he hits the bed. He groans at the feel of the bedspread on his stiff cock: the fabric is coarse, but he could get off like this, he's so damned turned on right now.

"Don't you dare," Gladio says from nearby, and Prompto stops humping the bed as quickly as he realizes he was doing just that. He can hear Gladio shucking out of his own shirt, undoing his leather pants; he turns his head to watch, mouth going dry at the sight of Gladio casually stripping off. Boots neatly lined up, pants draped over the chair in the corner, Gladio pauses only a moment to dig in his bag before he stalks toward the bed. Prompto grasps for the pillow to bury his mouth in it, needing to muffle the moan.

"That's right," and the bed dips as Gladio sets a knee in the mattress, a hand by Prompto's shoulder, mouth at Prompto's ear. "You keep quiet just as long as you can. I wanna see how long you can hold out."

Prompto whimpers in response, but apparently it's not loud enough to break Gladio's rule because a moment later Gladio's mouth is on his nape, his shoulders, making a hot wet path down his spine. At the same time, there's a sound that doesn't make sense, but then he feels a broad slick finger rubbing between his buttocks, at his opening, and he whines into the pillow. Gladio wastes no time stroking in with a thick finger; it's like he knows Prompto needs it right away. And maybe he does, after all the times they've done this, how it started off almost shy and tentative before Prompto finally just sat on Gladio's fingers and ground them into him and made it clear that he liked it hard and fast.

Now there's almost a routine to it. Almost, but not quite, because sometimes Gladio uses his mouth (and oh god beard burn on his thighs makes Prompto fucking crazy the next day, remembering it every time he moves), sometimes his fingers.

(And sometimes, very rarely, Prompto's the one to fuck Gladio into the mattress, and he thinks he keeps those memories more precious than any others.)

Tonight, though, Gladio's full aware of just how desperate Prompto is. He adds his middle finger along with the index almost at once. Prompto writhes back, shamelessly begging: two is good but never enough. Gladio pauses after several strokes, adds more of the slick, pushes hard into Prompto again. Prompto shouts into the pillow, his hands squeezing fistfuls of it, and then pulls it far enough away so he can beg again: "Gods, Gladio, would you just please--"

Gladio's fingers go still in Prompto's ass. "What was that?" he growls. Prompto's cock, trapped between his belly and the bed, jerks hard. He bites down on his lip. The moment stretches out, and then Gladio's fingers draw back and Prompto is suddenly, mercilessly, _empty_ , right where he needs to be fucked and filled and _taken_ within an inch of his life.

He pants into the pillow. Gladio isn't this cruel, he wouldn't be, he _couldn't_ be--

Then he feels the broad head of Gladio's cock pressing into him and he lets go of a moan (hastily muffled) of sheer relief. Thank the gods, thank the _gods_. He does his best to keep still, to let Gladio guide himself, both big hands on Prompto's hips and fucking huge cock filling him up, so deep in him, so _hard_ , so... Prompto doesn't have any words beyond 'good' anymore. He's inarticulate with the sheer pleasure of being given just exactly what he needed that all he can do is gasp, mewl, shudder, and let Gladio take him over completely.

And that's exactly what Gladio does, so fucking well. Every stroke is slow and teasing, drawing back at the same relentless pace only to push in again, just as hot, just as steady. Gladio pulls back on Prompto's hips, tugging him up until he's kneeling rather than laying down, and that's even better: he can move with Gladio, nudging back when Gladio pushes in so that they meet with a powerful connection every time.

It's a better angle, too: Prompto knows it the instant Gladio thrusts deep and he feels that hit of sheer ecstasy, that white-hot bliss racing through him. He buries his face in the pillow so that his shout is quieter, but he hears Gladio laugh and knows that even with the cushioning, he's still too loud. He doesn't care. Every thrust is hitting him just right now, wave after wave of pleasure, and when Gladio slips a hand around and closes his fist on Prompto's cock, he can't contain it any longer. He shoots hard, pushing into the tight channel of Gladio's fist, shaking and panting, the moan uncontainable. 

Gladio's right behind him, and as much as he loves the sensation of orgasm, Prompto loves this just as much: Gladio arches and thrusts, hand gripping Prompto's hip so hard it might leave bruises, his shout of pleasure a lion's roar. There's a rush of heat inside him, and Prompto lets go at last, his knees giving way so that he falls face-first to the bed again. He thinks every body part is trembling. Gladio follows him down, blanketing him with his big body, one arm wrapped around Prompto's chest and his mouth pressed to Prompto's shoulder.

Gladio's big. Prompto wouldn't want him any other way.


End file.
